Nothing More
by Mistress Sorcha
Summary: Something is causing Dean to withdraw further and further inside himself, slowly going insane and Sam is in a race against time to figure out why before Dean's mind and soul are lost forever. Hurt/Insane!Dean, Protective!Sammy, Bobby and Castiel.


**Setting:** Season 4, some time after Family Remains.

**Warning:** Full-on heavy angst! Hurt/Insane!Dean, Protective!Sammy, Protective!Bobby.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the boys, Bobby, Castiel or anything related to Supernatural. Friggin' Kripke is being a stingy bastard with my toys….

* * *

"You're worthless…" said his father's voice as it echoed through his head.

"I should have let you die in the fire that took you're mother…"

Dean's tear-filled eyes clenched shut as his father's voice continued to scream across his mind.

"You're not my son. You never were and you never will be. You are nothing but a soldier…a tool to use against the evil in the world. The only reason you're still around is so you can take care of Sammy and be a good soldier in the war. You mean nothing to me…" John's voice growled out inside him as Dean continued to shrink inside himself, his eyes clenched tightly, trying desperately to reign in the tears that threatened to fall at any moment.

"Look at you…so goddamn weak and pathetic. Cryin' like a little bitch. You are worse than useless. Look what you did!!! You are so weak that you broke in thirty years!!! I endured a hundred and you couldn't even make it a third of that!!! The reason I went to Hell for you wasn't because I loved you, it was because I know how weak you are. I knew you'd do exactly what they wanted and break the first damn seal. And you did…of course you did…so fucking weak…You are worse than anything we ever hunted now and if any hunters out there knew what I knew, you'd be hunted down and sent straight back to Hell where you belong." John's voice growled

Dean sobbed out ragged breaths, chest heaving and head throbbing under the vicious words his father's voice was pounding into him. He couldn't stave off the tears anymore. Now unleashed, they burned painful trails down his tight, gaunt face.

"Please Dad…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" Dean murmured incessantly.

"Sorry? That's right, you are sorry!!! You are a sorry excuse of a man. You disgust me…"

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" he whispered brokenly, sobbing and rocking himself, arms locked tight around his knees as he sat on the cold ground. A loud banging brought him slightly out of his stupor.

"Dean!!! Dammit! You've been in there forever! If you took the last of the hot water again, I'm gonna kill you!" Sam's voice bellowed through the door.

Dean shuddered, realizing he was sitting on the freezing cold, dirty tile floor of the shower of their motel room. Freezing water was pounding down on him, making him shiver harshly. He worked hard to quell his sobs, not wanting Sam to hear how weak and pathetic he was. He scrubbed roughly at his eyes and face to rid himself of the evidence of just how pathetic he was as he slowly dragged himself up and turned off the blasting, sputtering water. He stood for a long moment, shivering and dripping wet before he finally found the will to move again. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes and when he held his hands up to look at them, the fingers were white…'How long _**was**_ I in there?' he wondered vaguely as he stepped out onto the grimy, tattered rug and began clumsily drying himself with the dingy towels that hung waiting for him. He stepped in front of the mirror, his eyes clenched shut for a moment, refusing to look at his own image. Finally, he got up the courage to open his eyes and see. He was deathly pale, his eyes sunken and hollow, rimmed in red, and his face was gaunt and ghastly-looking. He looked nothing like his former self. His once mischievous green eyes were dull and lifeless now as they stared back at him. He turned away, unable to stand seeing himself any longer. He pulled on his boxers and night t-shirt and unlocked the door to let himself out into the room. Sam towered over him, blocking the way. He cringed back, unable to bring himself to raise his eyes to look upon his little brother for fear of his brother seeing the monster he was deep down inside in his eyes. He felt Sam's glare on him, felt the anger and frustration pouring off him in thick waves. It was Sam, not his Sammy any more. His little brother had been lost somewhere along the way it seemed, making way for the man that stood before him now. He wasn't Sammy anymore, and Dean wasn't Dean, either. When he died and went to Hell, part of him never came back. Dean stood there, unable to meet his eyes as he spoke to his fuming brother.

"I'm sorry…" he said meekly, his voice whisper-quiet. He felt like he could collapse at any moment and he just wanted to make it to the bed before he did, lest he embarrass and burden his brother further. Sam didn't budge.

"You are such an asshole, Dean. I let you have the first shower to be nice and this is how you repay me. Thank you so fucking much, Dean, you selfish bastard." Sam growled.

Dean's eyes squeezed closed to attempt to ward off the tears he felt coming. Dad was right, he couldn't do anything right...he was worthless. Dean felt the shivers still running through him. God, he felt so very cold and alone. He just wanted to curl up in the bed and fade away. His arms raised up to wrap around himself without his notice or consent. He stood there hugging himself, wishing Sam would just let him by so he could, hopefully, pass out. Sleep was a thing of the past. He never slept anymore. With the nightmares of his memories of Hell and now the ever present voice of his father raking through his mind, he never found rest or sleep anymore. The best he could hope for was to pass out from sheer exhaustion.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I'm sorry…" he whispered brokenly.

Sam glared at him for a little longer before throwing up his hands in exasperation, and with a deep sigh, he stalked away. Dean stumble-shuffled his way to his bed, the one farthest from the door nowadays, a departure from his former occupancy of the one closet to the door, setting himself as the first line of defense between the world and his family. He swayed dangerously as the world tilted on him. Dean barely made it to the bed before collapsing. Once there, he clawed his way up its length and burrowed in under the covers, his body still shaking despite the heavy wool blanket he had thrown on earlier. Dean prayed for a break, just a tiny break in which he'd be allowed to rest, but the moment he closed eyes, the voice ramped up in volume once again.

"Poor, pitiful Dean…goddamn pussy. I can't believe the angels think you're gonna stop the Apocalypse…look at you…can't even take a little pain without cryin' and whining like a bitch. Face it Dean…you are worthless. Soon as the angels figure that out, you're ass is going right back downstairs, right along side all the other monsters…"

Dean choked down a sob, still shaking uncontrollably as the tears that had been threatening to fall finally broke free and coursed their way over the bridge of his nose and dripped down into the mangy pillow case below. The voice kept at him, never ceasing. He prayed, begged for it to stop. He called out silently to Castiel, like he had so many times over the past few weeks, to please, please take all of it away…to make it stop…but his prayers were never answered.

Long after his brother finally shut off the lights and settled into bed, Dean lay there, silent sobs shaking his body, curled up in a wretched ball of misery. Sam hadn't noticed at all, or more likely, he hadn't cared. Finally, deep in the night, the shaking slowed to just an occasional tremor. He laid there, his father's voice berating him incessantly until he finally was allowed to succumb to unconsciousness. Even there he found no respite. The moment his exhausted eyes slid shut again, he was thrown back into memories of some of his worst days in Hell. He didn't even bother to try to wake up, he had no will to. He sunk down into the pain and misery and horror and let it flood into him, owning him, claiming him. He wished for an end, for oblivion, but they never came. Over and over he was tortured, raped, ripped apart…only to be pieced back together again and have it all start all over again. He was floating there, lost in that place, always there because he could never really leave.

* * *

Sam heard a faint sound in the night, pulling him from his sleep. At first he couldn't place it. He recognized it abstractly, but he couldn't understand who or what could or would be making that particular sound. He shifted in bed, lifting up to rest upon his elbow so he could try and find the noise again and follow it back to its source. He waited for what felt like an eternity before it finally came again. A nearly silent whimpered moan…and it was coming from the direction of his brother's bed. Sam's brow furled in confusion. Dean hadn't been acting right for almost four weeks now. He was even more out of it and subdued then when he'd first come back from Hell. There had been no biting comments, no witty remarks, no off-color humor, not even his usual playboy ways around women. He had steadily become more and more withdrawn by the day. He looked even worse. Sam had never seen him so worn, so thin. If Sam didn't know better, he might think Dean was suffering from terminal cancer. His eyes were dull and lifeless, sunken into his gaunt face. He was deathly pale. Sam couldn't recall the last time, if ever since coming back, that his brother had actually slept. That he had actually got any rest. His brother was running on fumes, working and hunting until he collapsed in exhaustion. Dean had tried drinking heavily to try to drown out the memories of Hell that tormented him every night, but after months of still finding barely any rest, he had given up on trying to lose himself in a bottle. It simply didn't work well enough to be worth it. Still, his brother had pushed himself on, pushing harder and harder, doing hunt after hunt and saving seal after seal with no break in between.

When he'd first got back, Dean had been trying his best to present the outward image of himself, the one that he had carefully cultivated from an early age. He had put on the mask, raised up his walls and tried his hardest to make Sam believe that he was fine, just like he'd always been. Sam saw right through it, though. He always had, but now, he could see the deep cracks that marred the walls…the pain and anguish held barely in check behind his mask. Sam had tried to get Dean to just let him in, to let him help carry some of the magnificently heavy burden that he was dragging around inside him, now more so than any other time in his life. Unfortunately, the patented Winchester brand of hard-headed stubbornness was still in full force and his brother flat out refused to let Sam help him. He wished now that he'd pushed harder.

Things had only gone from bad to for the worse after that. His brother had been injured badly in a hunt gone wrong, winding up in the hospital for 4 days. Sam had suggested they split up and search separate parts of the house to cover ground more quickly. Soon after they had separated, something had taken the opportunity presented by Sam's absence to attack him. Sam was far away in another part of the massive house, busy searching for and eventually finding the bones of the vengeful spirit they were after and doing the salt and burn they'd come to do on it. He actually hadn't seen or even heard the attack. The salt and burn itself had been difficult to do with the ghost popping up faster and faster after each blast of rock salt, but he'd managed it. He'd tried calling out to Dean for help during it, but his brother had never come. He went hunting for his brother, pissed at Dean for not being around to help him do the job, and he'd found him, face down in a pool of his own blood, gashes and punctures covering his body, unconcious. Sam had thought the spirit had ambushed him and knocked him out then ripped into his brother before he'd come after him to stop him from burning his bones and sending him away. Sam didn't think anything of it, just assuming it had been the spirit and that he'd taken care of it. Sam had frantically tried waking Dean but he wouldn't wake, so Sam lifted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and bounded out to the Impala, driving at break-neck speeds to get his brother to the hospital before he bleed out. Dean had been unconscious for 2 days before coming around. He said he didn't remember what had happened to him. Sam hadn't been sure if he'd been lying then or not, but he had been glad to see that his brother was awake and was gong to be alright. Dean had checked himself out A.M.A. not long after that and they'd headed out for yet another hunt, thinking nothing of what had happened and chalking it up to the already dispelled spirit.

That was when he noticed Dean's uncharacteristic behavior. His brother began refusing to meet his gaze. He barely spoke, barely ate. Nightmares plagued him every night. Sam had tried talking to his brother, tried to coax him out of the shell he was rapidly drawing himself into, but Dean wasn't talking. Sam had even called in Bobby, getting the older hunter on the line and telling him how Dean was acting. Bobby had tried to get Dean to talk to him, though that was fruitless as well. Sam had taken Dean to Bobby's for a couple days, hoping his big brother would snap out of it and talk to someone, anyone, so long as he would just DO something to come back from whatever was happening with him. After a couple of days, Dean had been practically silent and Sam had decided to take a new hunt, having seen that his brother was at least somewhat responsive during those times when they were hunting. He'd promised Bobby he'd keep an eye on Dean and they'd taken off again. Now even hunting and seal-saving couldn't draw him out.

Sam had finally had it. They'd done yet another hunt, one that left them both exhausted. The hunt had been a miserable affair involving a strenuous hike into a small, dense forest to do yet another salt and burn. They'd barely gotten started with the grave-digging before the spirit had shown up and started kicking their ass, tossing them around like ragdolls for ages before they were able to burn the damn thing out of existence. They had both been extremely tired and sore, covered in moist dirt and crumpling leaves and bark as they trudged their way back out of the woods to the car, but thankfully, they weren't seriously hurt this time. Dean hadn't even tried to get into the driver's seat. He'd merely collapsed into the passenger seat in utter silence and turned himself from Sam, curling himself into a tightly hunched ball in the corner by the door. Sam had seen the misery rolling off his brother in waves and so he had tried to be a good brother and had offered to let Dean have the first shower when they got back. Dean had simply grunted as a response and not made another sound all the way home. Sam had kept a wary eye on him, growing more and more frustrated at his brother's complete lack of care or acknowledgement of anything anymore. They arrived at the room, dragging themselves inside and locking up tight. Dean had plucked a reasonably clean t-shirt and pair of boxers from his bag and had wandered into the bathroom without so much as a backward glance. Sam alternated watching the door of the bathroom with worry, frustration and impatience. Finally, when Dean hadn't come out and let him have his turn, the weeks of frustration and worry had just made him snap. He couldn't stop himself from raking Dean over the coals. When Dean hadn't even fought back, he should have known just how incredibly and seriously wrong things were, but instead, it had only served to fuel the fire raging inside him even more. What the hell was wrong with his brother! He was worse than he had been when he'd been blindly following their father's orders. He didn't even stick up for himself when Sam had stepped over the line. Sam had been too pissed to register just how bad his brother looked right then when he'd opened the door. Sam had stalked away, fuming unreasonably, ignoring his brother, though he glared over at him often.

Looking back now, now that the anger had dissipated, his frown deepened. He remembered how unsteady his brother looked on his feet. How pale and small he had seemed as he clutched his bone-thin arms around himself, swaying and rocking on his unsteady feet. Sam had watched Dean stagger to his bed and drag himself up it, crawling under the covers and curling into a ball. He saw the cloth-obscured form of his big brother shaking beneath the bed linens and heavy wool blanket, despite the fact that it was spring time and relatively warm that night. Sam swallowed heavily, realizing he'd completely ignored how damaged and broken his brother had looked until right then. Sam couldn't believe he'd grown so callous and cold that he'd failed to see how much his brother need help until right then. Tears prickled in his eyes. Maybe his brother was right...maybe he had changed too much to even be recognized as Sam Winchester anymore…

Sam refused to cry. He flat-out refused to breakdown. He had to be strong for Dean, just as Dean had always been strong for him. No matter how incredibly messed up he REALLY was deep down, somehow, Dean always managed to keep himself together and take care to make sure his Sammy was alright. Sam was always first and foremost in his mind, always to Dean's own detriment and Sam had always simultaneously secretly treasured and vehemently despised being so important, so loved by his big brother. Sam knew it was high time he returned the favor.

Slipping out of bed silently, padded softly across the small gap between the beds, flicking on the dim bedside lamp as he went. He reached out, lightly gripping his brother's shoulders, preparing for the stunningly fast reflexes he'd come to associate with his brother. God help anyone that tried to sneak up on Dean in the middle of the night…they'd likely end up with a black eye and a knife to the throat for their trouble. Sam was definitely surprised by the lack of any response at all, which ramped up his worry ten-fold. He quickly made his way around the bed, kneeling down in front of his brother's bed. Sam couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips at the sight that greeted him. He could clearly see the tear tracks on his brother's pallid face and the wet cloth beneath his head where they had fallen and remained. Dean had been crying…heavily…and Sam hadn't even noticed. God, he felt like a bastard. Dean had always known when he was upset, and he had always been there to comfort and calm his little brother down and Sam hadn't even noticed Dean's distress at all. It wasn't only that Dean had been crying, though that was pretty goddamn rare in and of itself, but it was more the fact that he was out and out heavily, steadily crying, as opposed to the few, lonely, heartbreaking tears that he allowed himself to shed when he absolutely couldn't keep the pain inside anymore that had Sam in an escalating state of panic.

"Dean?" he choked out hoarsely. Dean didn't give any sign that he'd heard him at all. Reaching out, he gripped his brother's shoulder, shaking him as he tried again, this time louder.

"Dean. Hey man, wake up!"

Nothing.

By now, Sam's heart was thudding rapidly in his chest with panic. What if he won't wake up? Sam shook his head violently to rid himself of that thought as he gripped both his brother's shoulders and shook him hard enough to cause whiplash.

"DEAN!!! Dammit, wake the fuck up!!!" Sam bellowed. Dean's eyes shifted beneath their sheaths but didn't open. Sam growled out in terror and worry. He swung his hand back and brought it down hard on his brother's cheek as he kept screaming at his unresponsive brother.

"DEAN!!! DAMMIT, YOU WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!!"

Sam's breathing was ragged, his heart going a mile a minute as he brutally shook his brother once again. His brother groaned but his eyes were still shut tight. Sam choked out a sob as he shook his brother over and over again.

"Dammit Dean, come on man…please wake up. Friggin' scarin' me here, bro…" Sam pleaded. Sam stopped trying to shake his brother awake, listening as his brother moaned and whimpered from what he was unable to escape from in his nightmares. His eyes darted back and forth under his eyelids and he shuddered and gasped when the remembered pain or terror was too overwhelming to hold in.

Sam stayed at his big brother's side all through the rest of the night and deep into the morning the next day, trying desperately to get his brother to wake up. He shook him, slapped him, splashed him with ice cold water…nothing worked. Dean was locked inside himself and nothing Sam did seemed snap him out of it. Sam broke down just before noon and called Bobby up. The moment the older hunter's gruff tone sounded back to him over the phone line, Sam's mouth began pouring out the story. He knew he was talking way too fast and that he sounded desperate, but he was too upset and panic-stricken to slow down. Luckily, Bobby seemed to catch on to what he was saying and he got to work on calming the youngest Winchester down as best he could.

"Sam, son…you gotta calm down. You giving yurself a stroke ain't gonna do Dean any good right now. Just tell me where you are an' I'll come ta help ya fix 'im up, alright? We'll figure out what's goin' on, Sam. I promise ya we will, but right now, you gotta hold it together 'til I get there, got it?" Bobby said.

Sam nodded, then remembering Bobby couldn't see him, he gave himself a mental smack to the back of the head and spoke out loud that he understood.

"Ok, Bobby…and…thanks…again." Sam said softly.

"No need to be thankin' me, boy…I ain't even done anything yet. Just hang on til I get there, alright? I'll be there in 4, maybe 5 hours tops. Keep an eye on him."

"I'll be here …" Sam said as he hung up the phone. He looked back at Dean, watching his brother suffer and he felt completely powerless to help him. It was like watching the clock tick down on his deal all over again or looking for a way to bring him back from Hell after he'd been dragged away. Sam's heart was being torn away yet again and he could do nothing but watch it happen. Sam slumped down to the floor, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms pulling them tight and holding them in place. He tried to be still, but the fear in his system kept him twitching and fidgeting while he sat waiting. Finally, Sam couldn't take it anymore, he reached up and placed his palm on Dean's painfully thin arm, needing the connection, however small, with his brother. He had no idea how long he'd sat there when he heard his brother gasp loudly. Sam looked up just in time to see his big brother sit bolt upright in the bed, his face contorted in abject terror as he screamed out in a desperate, soul-crushing wail. He sat there panting, trying to drag breaths into his gaping mouth as he worked to draw in much needed oxygen. Sam was up in an instant, slipping behind Dean on the bed, settling Dean back against his chest as he worked to get him to calm down. Sam had had panic attacks when he was younger, another result of finding out that monsters were real, one that had usually gone hand in hand with the nightmares he'd had as well. Sam hoped that what Dean had done for him would work for his big brother just as effectively, because Sam really didn't want his brother to hyperventilate and pass out so soon after having just found his way back to consciousness. Sam placed one of his large hands palm down over Dean's heart, the other gently gripping Dean's arm. He made his own breaths deep and long and tried to get Dean to follow suit.

"Hey, Dean…just breathe, man…come on…nice deep breathe in, bro…now let it out nice and slow…come on, breathe like me dude." Sam said in his best soothing, soft tone. At first, Dean struggled wildly, not really seeing or hearing reality, the nasty world he was climbing out of still clawing at him and trying to drag him back under. Sam kept up his litany of soothing words, his hand on Dean's arm moving to his shoulder and attempting to massage the tension out when his brother slowly began to calm down. Sam kept talking, keeping the words flowing until Dean's breathing was deep and slow and his racing heart was calm and steady beneath his palm. Knowing his brother like he did, Sam knew his tolerance probably wouldn't extend much longer for the physical contact and so Sam slid carefully out from behind Dean and shifted Dean into a semi-seated position, propped up by pillows against the headboard. Sam settled himself on the edge of his own bed, ready to spring into action should Dean need him for anything. He watched silently while his brother seemed to gather himself back together again. When Dean's gaze finally wandered over to him, albeit briefly, Sam couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"Hey, Dean man…you ok now? I mean, obviously you're not ok, but are you…um…back now…I guess?" Sam asked quietly, not wanting to set his brother off or make things worse.

At first, Sam wasn't sure if Dean would answer, or even if he COULD answer, but after a long moment, he did.

"Yeah Sam…I'm ok…"

It was said so quietly that Sam almost didn't believe it had come from his brother's mouth. Dean had never been so quiet or subdued in his life, not even when he was deathly ill. Even at times like that, he was restless, loud, and completely unable to keep still. Dean still wouldn't look at him.

"Hey, come on man…what the hell is going on Dean? Please, just talk to me…" Sam said, not missing the flinch his brother gave at the word "hell".

"Nothing, Sam. I'm fine."

"No. No you're not, Dean. Please. Just let me help you for once. Please?"

Dean didn't respond, or at least didn't mean to respond, but Sam heard the words he breathed out to himself under his breath irregardless. 'No one can help me…I don't deserve anyone's help anyway…'

Sam was on his feet and around the side of Dean's bed in a blink, gripping Dean's shoulders bruisingly tight once again.

"Dean!" Sam cried out as he shook his brother harshly. "Look at me, dammit!"

Dean wouldn't look up, though. Sam gripped him roughly under his chin and raised his head, forcing Dean to look at him. The utter emptiness and desolation he saw there felt like a punch to the gut and Sam was breathless and speechless for a moment as he looked into the eyes that had once so full of life. Pain and unbelievable sadness welled inside him and he felt his eyes prickle with tears once again. Sam collapsed to the bed, still holding his brother's chin to keep his gaze on him.

"Dean…" he breathed. "Please…let me help you. I don't want you to die…I…I can't be all alone again…"

Dean shuddered. The anguish in his brother's eyes was just another thing to add to the overwhelming weight pressing down on him and he just couldn't take it anymore.

"I can't take it anymore…I…I just want it to stop…I don't know how to make it stop…" he sobbed out, tears slipping over his hollow cheeks, catching at Sam's hand under his chin. Sam moved his hand to cup his face, not caring if it was incredibly 'chick-flick', and neither did his brother, it seemed, because for once in his life, he actually accepted the contact, unconsciously seeking out the comfort it offered. That simple act was the most tell-tale sign of all of just how far Dean had fallen before Sam had even really tried to reach out and catch him. Shame flooded into him as Sam fully realized just how much he'd neglected his brother, his best friend, his father in every way that counted.

"Hey…Dean…make what stop, bro?"

Dean's eyes slide closed and he choked in a deep breath as he finally gave in and let it out.

"The feelings…the dreams…" he stopped as his breath hitched in sob. "The voice…" he whispered.

Sam was taken aback. Feelings? Voices? He'd known about the nightmares, but the way Dean was talking, maybe it was something else as well.

"What do mean, Dean? What feelings? What voices? The dreams…is it Hell, or is there something else…" he said, making sure to keep his tone soothing, though he was desperate to know what the hell was happening to his brother.

"Hell…yes…but it's worse…so much worse then ever before and the feelings…I…don't know, I just can't seem to see anything good, all I feel is this…overwhelming sadness and despair…just like when I was…when I was in Hell… and I just…I don't want to live anymore…I can't do this anymore."

Sam swallowed hard. How had he waited so long to help his brother? What if he'd gone out for supplies or left with Ruby…he shuddered to think of what his brother might have done to himself if Sam had left him alone…

"Hey, don't…please don't think that. God, Dean…I'm sorry. I should have been there for you, man…You needed help and I…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"Not your fault, Sammy. I'm fucked up…Dad was right…I'm worthless…" Dean whispered brokenly.

That got Sam's attention. He'd never heard their father say something like that to Dean, though, he thought maybe, sadly, it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities, but still…

"What? What do you mean? Why would you think dad would think you're worthless? You are not worthless, Dean…I can't believe you can't see what an amazing person you are…"

"He talks to me, Sammy…every day…I can hear his voice in my head…"

Sam's mouth fell open, stunned. "Dean? How long has this been going on? How long have you heard the voice in your head?" Sam said, wanting to know, though he already had a sneaking suspicion.

Dean shrugged. "Since the hunt where I ended up in the hospital, I guess…"

Sam was right, almost a month. Dammit, how had he not seen the connection before!

"Dean, are you sure you can't remember what happened to you that night? Anything? Anything at all?"

Dean's brow furled in concentration. "I…don't know…it's…it's really weird…it's just blank, like a big blank, black space there. I remember going in the house, us separating and then lights out after that…Why?"

"Shit…I think that spirit did something to you, man. Kinda like what that doctor did to me in the Roosevelt Asylum…You remember him? He like…got inside my brain somehow…I think the same thing might have happened to you…wait…huh…I burned the bones…how is it still attacking you? Unless…shit…unless the spirit wasn't the cause in the first place…what if something else was there, something that caused the first man to commit suicide…what if the spirit I took out was another one of it's victims?!?" Sam said, his voice raising in volume 'til he was practically shouting. Dean cringed back from him slightly.

"I'm sorry, hey, dude…I'm sorry. I think I screwed up…big time. Fuck is that an understatement…and you've been paying the price. Sonofabitch…I'm sorry, Dean. Man, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault…Jesus, I'm sorry…" Sam said as he dragged his brother into a tight hug. Dean seemed reluctant at first, but he gave up and hugged his little brother back fiercely.

"I'm gonna fix this, Dean. I swear I'm gonna make it right. Just hold on, ok? And don't listen to that voice anymore. It's not dad, it's something else. It's just using him to hurt you…just don't listen to it, ok?"

Dean nodded into Sam's shoulder. "I'll try, Sammy."

"You damn well better! Don't you even THINK about leaving me man…I'll chase you ass down and come in after you…" Sam said.

Dean pulled back, glaring at his brother, the big brother him flaring to life. "No. Don't even think about it, Sam. I mean it. I know where I'm going when I die and I DO NOT want you ever going there…"

"Don't do anything stupid and I won't have to come after you." Sam said.

"Goddamn it, Sammy…"

Dean was interrupted by a knock on the door. Sam grabbed his gun from his duffle, clicking off the safety as he went to the door. He peered out the peephole, seeing a rather rough-looking Bobby standing there.

He slid the gun into his waistband and unlocked the door.

"Bobby…thank God you're here. I'm got some good news and some bad news, though…" Sam said as he stepped back to let the older hunter in.

"Dean! Jesus! You're awake!...Damn, boy…you look like death beat you with a stick then threw you in front of a train for good measure…" Bobby said, truly shocked at how wasted away the eldest Winchester looked.

"Thanks, Bobby…You look like shit, too. What's your excuse?" Dean said, the tiniest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

Sam's lips turned in a lopsided, relieved grin. He was positively ecstatic to hear the tiniest bit of Dean's old humor creeping in. Maybe things were looking up after all…

Bobby snorted. "Well, besides the Apocalypse being nigh and all, I've got to save your asses over and over again. Damn Winchesters are gonna be the death of me someday, I just know it…" he grumbled out. Sam and Dean knew he was kidding, but, secretly, they both kinda thought that it would probably be true, too. They smiled dutifully, though, pushing the thought away for now, hoping against hope that it never came to pass.

"Yeah, so…Dean being awake is the good news…" Sam said.

"Figured as much…so what's the bad news?"

"I screwed up. Dean's been suffering all this time because I fucked up." Sam said, his eyes shifting to the ground, unwilling to look at either of them. He had put his brother in danger of losing himself…his life, his soul…forever, and he would never forgive himself for all the pain his brother had been suffering, yet again, because of his mistakes.

"Now hold on here, Sam. What happened? I know you, kid, and you don't screw up very often, so what the heck are you talking about?" Bobby said, honestly confused.

"You remember when Dean got hurt? Almost a month ago? I just chocked it up to the spirit in the we were hunting, but now, I think that whatever killed that spirit to begin with was still there and I think it got into Dean's head. I'm not sure what it is exactly, maybe a powerful vengeful spirit, maybe something else, but whatever it is, I never stopped to think about what had killed the man that became the ghost we hunted. I mean we know it was a suicide, but what if something pushed him to do it. Who knows how many others there have been. We gotta figure it out before something else happens to Dean. What if he goes to sleep and never wakes up, or something even worse…We gotta go back and finish what I failed to do and we gotta do it fast."

"Sam, you didn't know something else was there. None of the info I read suggested anything else there either. It's not your fault, son. Let's just be glad we figured it out and move on. Now, one of you boys tell me what it's been doin' so I can try ta find a place to start lookin'?" Bobby said, his tone brooking no argument.

Sam looked at Dean. He looked incredibly worn out, but at least there was something in his eyes now. Determination maybe? Sam decided that it didn't really matter what it was for now as long as there was some spark of life in them. Still, just to be on the safe side, he'd make extra sure to watch his brother now, just in case the spirit or whatever decided to up the ante and forced Dean to do something stupid…something irreversible and unbearable. Dean made to get up, but Sam shot down that notion right off the bat.

"Stay put, Dean. You need to rest 'cause I'm afraid we can't let you sleep for a while, not until we can kill the damn thing that's got it's claws in you, so just sit tight and save your energy. I'll order some food for us and we'll figure out what we need to do so we can get on the road as soon as possible." Sam said, pressing his brother's frail shoulder until he sat heavily back on the bed.

"Not a damn invalid, ya know…" Dean growled.

"I know you're not, man, but this thing has already sucked a month's worth of life outta you and I don't want to push our luck here, ok? So, just humor me. Please?" Sam said as he pulled out his patented Puppy-Dog Eyes look. The one Dean could never say no to, not now and certainly not back when they were growing up.

Dean sighed. Dammit…had to bring out the Puppy-Dog Eyes. Little shit knew he had a hard time saying no to that face…Dean grumbled but stayed put. Normally, he'd be having a knock-down/drag-out fight right about now with his little brother for trying to keep his ass in bed, but, truth be told, he was kinda grateful…just a little. He was so fucking tired, even blinking took too much energy. The voice was still going strong, throwing all his worst thoughts and fears in his face. He wasn't gonna lie, he was still so fucked up and wanting it to end, but, now that he knew it wasn't just something in him, he was able to take the edge off the bitter words being thrown at him. He really just wished the voice would shut the fuck up already…the sooner he got it out of his head, the better. Even shitty sleep at this point would be better then none and he sure as hell…aahhh…bad word choice…he definitely did not want to be stuck wallowing in his nightmares, unable to wake up. The fact that he had been so willing to just stay there really kinda had him spooked. He was quite positive he REALLY didn't want to do that again, spirit and voices and whatever be damned. He scowled at his little brother, though, just for old times sake, he supposed and called out in their old familiar banter.

"Whatever you say…bitch…"

Sam sort of smirked at the familiar barb, making it totally worth it in Dean's mind.

"Damn straight…jerk"

Dean felt the first good feeling he'd felt in so damn long and he smiled a crooked grin at his Sasquatch brother. He felt the feelings and voice ramping up again, but this time, he was gonna put up fight. Win or lose, at least he could say he went down swingin' instead of letting himself just fucking die. He was Dean Goddamn Winchester! Winchesters never just lay down and die!!! 'Screw you, asshole…I ain't playin' by your rules anymore…' he thought.

The voice and feelings seethed madly, apparently, it wasn't going without a fight either…Dean grabbed his head in agony as the voiced howled inhumanly in his mind. He felt himself gasping but he couldn't seem to find air.

* * *

Now that it was found out, the entity had to switch up it's tactics. If it couldn't drive the man to madness and suicide, then it would simply have to up its game to make the physical pain and damage so bad that he couldn't possibly survive it. The entity had been around long enough to be adaptable and it was aware of the many different kinds of pain present in the world. It loved all of them. Craved the myriad of tiny nuances each individual it came across brought to the experience. This one had been glorious to find, already so much pain inside to feed off of that it was like striking gold for the entity. The man had survived far longer than any other and was so intriguing to play with that it almost regretted that he would have to die. Its discovery was of no consequence, really…It would get to play with the man even harder now…This would be an exquisite experience indeed!

* * *

**A/N:** Okie Dokie!!! New story for y'all!! I have a couple of others written but not typed yet, too, so I'll be hopefully able to get those up and running soon, too. I always am nearly finished with the update for I'll Take Care Of You as well.

**As always, please, please, PLEASE Read & Review!!! (They are my crack…. ;) )**

Also, I have updated the links to my Supernatural line of jewelry I have for sale on eBay, including replicas of the **Mary Winchester Hunter's Protection** bracelet (as seen in the episode **'In the Beginning'**) and the **Dean Winchester Skull** bracelet (worn from **season 2 to present**), and other Superntaural-themed bracelets!!!

My newest piece is the **Castiel-themed ****"Have A Little Faith In Me"** charm bracelet. Please, check out the link and tell me what ya think!!!

The links are now current so if you wish to see them, they are handily located on my **Profile**!!!!

I can also get ahold of replicas of the **Dean Winchester Protection Amulet**, if anybody is interested.

Thank you everybody for reading my work!! *hugs*


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